


Raindrops on Douglas and Ginger-tinged Kittens

by Linguini



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Douglas is a soft touch, Fluff, Gen, Gen Fic, Kittens, Rain, but so is Carolyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linguini/pseuds/Linguini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas rescues some kittens with some familiar characteristics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raindrops on Douglas and Ginger-tinged Kittens

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a birthday fic gift.

It’s absolutely bucketing down when Martin makes the dash between his van and the portacabin. Luckily, Carolyn and Arthur are already there, lights on and kettle bubbling.

“Morning, Skip,” Arthur chirps. “Tea or coffee?”

“Morning, Arthur.” Martin slides off his raincoat, trying to get as little water on his papers as possible. “Coffee, I think, please.”

“Right-o.” Arthur turns to his self-appointed task as Carolyn comes storming out of her office. 

“Martin!” she barks sharply. “Where is your errant first officer?”

Martin looks at her quizzically. “Why would I know where he is? And he’s not my first officer. If anything, he’s _your_ first officer.”

“Because his car broke down last night, so I naturally assumed that, seeing as how the two of you work together at _the same airfield_ , he might have asked you for a ride.”

Martin shakes his head, not noticing the drops that fly off the ends of his hair onto the forms on the desk. “He never called me. I’m sure he’ll take a taxi in or something.”

“Uh, Skip,” Arthur says as he passes around the hot mugs. “I don’t think he will.”

Martin looks over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip, making a questioning hum. Arthur takes it as the invitation to continue that it is. 

“See, I came in this morning, same as I always do, and Mum came in with me, same as she always does. And I went to drop off the morning paper on Douglas’s desk, so he’ll have something to read on standby today, and I saw his wallet sitting on his desk, which is not the same as it always is. Usually, there’s a crossword puzzle, or a book, or one of those magazines with the really fast cars that must be in hot places because the girls in the pictures aren’t wearing many clothes.”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Arthur, get to the point.”

“I just mean, he doesn’t have his wallet with him, so he probably doesn’t have any money to get a taxi, that’s all.”

At that moment, the door blows open, and in grumps a waterlogged Sky God. Douglas’s hair is matted down, his white shirt translucent, and in his hands is a wadded piece of black fabric that looks remarkably similar to his uniform jacket. He’s shivering, but it’s not with cold. Martin hasn’t seen that look in his eyes many times in the long years they’ve been flying together, but he recognizes it in an instant. Douglas is _furious_.

His three companions are stunned into silence, and Douglas takes the opportunity to stalk to his desk and place the bundle he’s carrying on the top. Martin nearly protests as the ink on the flight plan runs, but he stops himself short. A Douglas in this sort of mood is a dangerous one, trifled with at cost. Carolyn, however, fears nothing.

“Arthur,” she barks. “Go find blankets or something. Martin, don’t just stand there, make the man some tea. What in God’s name happened, Douglas?”

He doesn’t respond, engrossed in pulling apart his jacket with infinite care. Arthur shows up with several blankets, which seems to awaken the older man from his stupor. 

“My car broke down last night. In the shop now. Mobile died.” The sentences are terse, Douglas’s back teeth clenched together. “Got a ride from George down the street. Tire went flat just outside the airfield. Tried to fix it, couldn’t. Was already wet and _here_ , so here I am.”

As he speaks, Arthur is trying to wrap him in a blanket, which he shrugs off impatiently. Martin’s finished the tea, and leaves the mug hesitantly on the corner of Douglas’s desk.

“And so you decided to see if you could catch pneumonia between the gate and here?” Carolyn asks.

“Actually, you can’t catch pneumonia from getting wet,” Martin starts. Carolyn shoots him an impressive glare, and his mouth clamps shut.

“ _No_ , Carolyn,” Douglas snarks back. “In fact, as I was on my way in, I found a quite interesting surprise in the drainage ditch.” He pulls apart the last folds of his jacket, and reaches carefully into the gap. His hands emerge cradling the smallest kitten Martin’s ever seen. A tiny tabby, with little white stripes on his tail and toes. He’s clearly soaked through, and barely mewls enough to be heard.

With a cry, Arthur takes the kitten from Douglas, wrapping it in one of the blankets. Douglas returns to his jacket, pulling another kitten out. This one is pure black and looks a little older than the other. Martin steps over and grabs it gently, taking it to the worktop nearest the radiator where Arthur has already set up camp. 

From the jacket emerges a third kitten, and then a fourth. These two are grey with black stripes, and while one is a bit bigger than the other, it’s clear they’re fast friends. 

“Oh, Douglas,” Carolyn teases. “You sentimental sod. You rescued a kitten.”

Douglas looks a bit caught out, but then just straightens his shoulders and looks Carolyn in the eye. “What else could I have done?” he asks. “Leave them there to drown?”

Carolyn just shakes her head and grabs the last two kittens, adding them to the pile on the worktop. The four humans stand around, each with a cat of their own, rubbing them briskly with the blankets and trying to ply them with warm milk.

“You know,” Douglas muses. “That one looks a bit like someone familiar. Reddish fur, indignant expression…”

Carolyn smirks. “I think I know just who you mean.”

Martin scowls, flicking water at Douglas. “Shut up, Douglas. I do not look like a wet kitten!”

“If Sir says,” Douglas drawls. “so it must be.”

Eventually, the kittens are dry enough to be left on their own. Arthur’s dug up a large box from somewhere and stuffed it with more blankets. They seem to take kindly to their new home, curling up and purring happily. 

The box is placed next to the radiator, and the crew watches as the ginger cat tucks himself away in one corner, far from the other kittens. 

“Oh, look,” Douglas says. “Even Cat-Sir doesn’t know how to use his stripes properly.”

“Shut up, Douglas,” Martin hisses. “He’s probably just…happier alone.”

Before any of them can comment, the larger of the two gray cats extracts herself from the pile, pouncing on the ginger cat. The smaller kitten doesn’t fight back, just submits to the older feline’s aggressive licks and pawing. Eventually, she releases him, and he curls back up in his corner.

This time, however, he doesn’t do it alone. The gray cat snuggles next to him, mewling at her former partner. The smaller gray kitten blinks at her owlishly, then extracts himself from under the black cat and joins the other two in the corner. The black cat looks a bit put out, and stands up. He stretches as he rises, taking up as much space as possible before forming the third side of the feline triangle around the ginger kitten. The four of them quickly fall asleep as the humans look on.

None of them say anything, and a warm silence stretches between them--which Douglas breaks with a huge sneeze and a sniffle. Carolyn snaps back into action.

“Right,” she commands. “Douglas, take your shirt off.”

“Really, Carolyn?” he smirks. “We haven’t even had dinner yet!”

She sighs and turns back to her office. “Funny pilot. Shirt, off. Arthur, find Douglas something to wear, preferably something that will keep him warm enough not to keel over in the office.”

Douglas protests. “I’m fine! Just a bit damp, is all.”

Carolyn ignores him, turning to Martin. The younger pilot is standing by the box, steady hands gently petting the ginger cat, with such a look of something undefinable that she pauses for a moment. Then she shakes herself off, and grabs Martin by the scruff of the neck.

“You,” she says “have paperwork to re-do.” But the gentle squeeze she gives the back of his neck and the quick brush of her fingertips through the hair at his nape says _Come back to us_. Martin looks at her bashfully, embarrassed at having been caught out.

“But Douglas is the one who ruined it,” he says. 

“Never mind that,” Carolyn returns. “From each according to his ability. And your ability is paperwork. Hop to it, before I decide that cheese isn’t a requirement on every flight after all.”

Martin gives her a brief smile before pulling the requisite forms from his drawers. As he’s filling out the first piece of paperwork, he glances over to Douglas’s desk. The older man is fending off well-meaning attempts from the steward, but it’s with less than his usual vigor. And Martin, who’s sat next to the man for years now, can see the fondness in his eyes as he protests. Eventually, he loses the argument and wraps the blanket around his shoulders and Arthur leaves him be. This proves serendipitous approximately forty minutes later, when Douglas is slumped over his desk, head pillowed on his crossed arms, breathing slowly and evenly.

Martin smiles to himself as he watches Arthur gently extract the sodden blanket from the first officer and replace it with a slightly drier one. Douglas doesn’t wake, just burrows a bit deeper into his arms with a gentle snuffle. Carolyn comes out of her office and, rather than chastise her pilot, brings her mug of coffee to sit by Martin’s desk. Arthur joins her and the three of them have a subdued conversation, timed in counterpart to Douglas’s breathing.

And the four kittens, snuggled in the box and tightly intertwined, shuffle a bit closer together, a family huddled against the cold.


End file.
